Hooked
by RochelleRene
Summary: Remember when Cuddy came up to thank him for the desk, but instead spotted him and DeeDee canoodling after they had pranked Taub and Kutner? What if House had seen her?
_**A/N: This is just a little one-shot from "Let Them Eat Cake." I was thinking, remember when Cuddy came up to thank him for the desk, but instead spotted him and DeeDee canoodling after they had pranked Taub and Kutner? (Of course you do… sob!) What if House had seen her?**_

 **Hooked**

Cuddy realized it all of a sudden and couldn't stop the wide smile from spreading across her face.

House.

House was the only explanation. He'd gotten her med school desk somehow; how did he do any of the things he did? He'd had it delivered to her office. It was classic House irony—he spends weeks sabotaging her renovations, which were only happening because _he_ had helped to destroy her office, then uses the situation to make a big significant gesture. This _was_ significant, right?

If there was ever going to be a chance, this was it. She raced to the elevator. Her insides were aflutter with nervous delight as the doors opened on his floor and she started walking toward his office. She already had her opening line ready. "My decorator screwed up and sent the wrong desk. I had to send it back, so I'm gonna need to work in here for a few more days." She grinned imagining his reaction.

The grin vanished when she saw him, cozied up to the woman who straightened the collar on his jacket. She froze in place for a moment, her brain trying to make sense of this abrupt change of context.

Of course. The hooker.

She'd already heard about the shenanigans he'd arranged to teach Kutner and Taub a lesson. Why on Earth had she been dumb enough to think it would end there? Still, what kept her frozen in place staring at the scene was not some sudden realization that House wasn't above paying for sex. No, it was the way they were looking at each other. He was laughing. House was smiling down at this woman as they chatted quietly. She'd always imagined these encounters in a sort of pervy business-like way… an emotionless transaction. Never did she imagine the misanthrope actually talked and laughed with the women.

She felt sick. She turned to rush back to the elevator. But House had seen the movement in his peripheral vision. He turned and saw the unmistakable shape of Cuddy walking down the hall. DeeDee was still flirting, her hand on the back of his neck. "You're gonna let me drive, right?" she asked him seductively. But House didn't even hear her. At first he thought of the desk. Maybe she'd just discovered it. But then his thoughts quickly caught up to the present situation. Maybe she'd just discovered something else… him standing here with this other woman. Shit. He was such a moron sometimes.

As she was waiting for the elevator doors to open she heard his voice. "Cuddy!" he called behind her. She didn't turn around, for fear that her facial expression would give away her internal state. She was afraid to even speak, fearing her voice would tremble, but she knew she had to respond if this were to stay under control. "What, House?" she answered, still facing away from him. She heard his approach behind her and mentally willed the damn elevator to arrive.

"What are you doing up here?" he asked. He was trying to read her expression, but she wasn't looking directly at him.

"I was dropping a file off to Wilson's desk," she lied.

"But I saw you. Coming to my office."

The elevator doors opened—Thank you, Jesus!—and Cuddy stepped in, shrugging. "Yeah, but I saw you were busy. It's not big deal. I'll catch up with you tomorrow." The doors started to slide shut, but House stuck his cane in and they slid back open. Cuddy rolled her eyes with frustration.

"What is it?" he pressed.

As Cuddy was quickly trying to think up some bullshit excuse, DeeDee appeared in the hallway behind House. "Yo, House. We doing this? Tick tock." House closed his eyes in frustration and embarrassment.

"Seems like she's in a hurry," Cuddy commented. "Better go."

"She's…" House turned around quickly. "Just, yeah, forget it." He had never cancelled on a hooker and wasn't sure of the wording to use. Thankfully, DeeDee sized up the situation quickly.

"Suit yourself," she said, and began striding toward the elevator. House was dying inside. He wanted to pick the woman up and throw her out a window, just to get her out of the hospital as quickly as possible. But no, she got on and stood there, next to Cuddy. He looked at the two of them—DeeDee all leather and smirk next to Cuddy all silk and doubt—and he had no choice but to ride this situation out. Literally. He got on the elevator.

"I'll, uh, see you out," he stammered. The doors finally slid shut and they started descending, the air pulsing with awkwardness and tension. When they arrived in the lobby, DeeDee patted House on the ass without a word and strode confidently toward the front doors. Cuddy quickly clicked away toward her office.

"Cuddy," he called after her. "C'mon, Cuddy. She's a prostitute."

"I know what she is, House," Cuddy replied in a clipped tone.

"I mean… It's not…" He sighed as Cuddy went into her office, closing the door behind her… as if that shut door had ever stopped him before.

"Why are you pissed?" he asked, walking right in. The potential desk-prompted conversation he had imagined possibly ending in a relationship, or a date at least, was made more awkward by the influence of the sex industry.

"I'm not pissed. I'm just going home." She started gathering her things. How could she have been so foolish to think the stupid desk meant anything? It was just another prank. He probably had some sarcastic comment all ready to go with it. Something about her needing to go back to med school or some crap.

"You _are_ pissed. Look, I didn't plan that. I hired her as a prank for Kutner and—"

"I know all about the prank," Cuddy explained. "And I know all about you and your proclivity toward anonymous sex," she sniped. Still, anonymity didn't look like all that smiling and chit-chat. She pushed the thought out of her head.

House couldn't help laughing. "My proclivity? Come on, Cuddy. I don't have standing dates with prostitutes. I get my teeth cleaned more often."

Cuddy looked at him briefly and arched an eyebrow. "You seem to use them enough to know which ones have convincing theatrical skills." She went back to packing her briefcase.

House studied her, noting how she ignored the topic of the desk. Damn, it did look great in there. "Why do you even care who I sleep with?" he asked. He was daring her to bring this out in the open. He'd already stepped out on a limb with the desk, and now he wanted her to step out there with him.

"I don't," she responded immediately, closing her briefcase and walking toward her coat. But he caught her arm and pulled her to face him.

"Why do you care?" he asked again.

Cuddy had no idea what to say. She'd gone up there prepared to tease him and then ask him if the gesture meant what she thought it did. If it did, she wanted to tell him how much she'd been waiting for this—some sign that he returned her affections. But now… now it was all messed up. "I just don't want you making a habit of bringing prostitutes into my hospital to play games with you and your team."

House searched her eyes, trying to find a hint of anything, but she was being cagey. "Cuddy," was all he could think to say. Well, he could _think_ to say a bunch of other things—Cuddy, I love you; Cuddy, you're the only one I want to be with; Cuddy, let's go to Vegas—but he didn't dare say them. She needed to go first.

As she stepped from his grasp, though, and slipped on her coat, he knew he was running out of time. _Tick tock_.

"Nice desk," he said to her back as she was leaving. She froze. He saw her raise a hand to her forehead.

She whirled around to face him across six feet of office. "Why do you do this?" she asked angrily.

"What?" he asked, his smirk fading.

"You… you give me these ideas that you… and then just when I think…" she stuttered. "Forget it. Thank you for the desk," she said, without any trace of gratitude in her tone. She turned, picked up her briefcase, and started to leave again.

"Cuddy, don't go," he pleaded. "It was a stupid, impulsive idea." He saw her pause again. "The hooker, not the desk." He took a step toward her. "The desk was not impulsive. And right now I'm hoping damn hard it wasn't stupid." Cuddy looked at him over her shoulder, a small sign of encouragement. "I remember us working on that desk. I remember _not_ working on that desk," he teased.

Cuddy turned to face him fully now. "So that's what it's about? You just wanted to make fun of me? Or maybe you thought you might get laid? But then, oh, here's a sure thing, so you'll just stop by the ATM and you're all set."

"For chrissake, Cuddy, she was a hooker, not an arms dealer. Why are you so pissed about this? It's a biological need."

"You have a hand!" Cuddy yelled. "Two, if you need variety."

"Yeah, well, sometimes it's nice to feel skin that isn't yours," he sniped back. "Maybe you're so in love with yourself you're completely satisfied, but I occasionally like a respite from being alone." He was a little pissed himself now. Who was she to judge his sexual choices when she was just as alone and just as scared to talk to him?

Cuddy looked at him as he shifted his gaze away from her face and onto something random in her office. "You weren't just gonna, like, fuck her, House. I saw you. You were having fun with her."

"I'm not allowed to have fun when I fuck?" he bit back.

"You know what I mean."

House sighed and scratched the back of his head. "It was easy to have fun with her. She's essentially a stranger."

"Oh, okay, so you hate people, except strangers. Or is it just strangers with certain measurements that make you so jolly?"

"She's a hooker!" he cried out, disgusted with the conversation. "She's basically professionally trained at making socially awkward men feel less awkward!" He paced away to look out the window. "And it's easier to be relaxed with someone you aren't trying to impress."

Cuddy saw him standing there, next to her desk. She swallowed. "Why weren't you trying to impress her?"

She saw him shake his head. "She's. A. Hooker."

Cuddy took a tentative step toward him. "Who _are_ you trying to impress?"

House laughed. "Oh, no. You're not getting off that easy," he said, turning around and leaning against the window sill, crossing his legs and arms defiantly.

"Why?" Cuddy asked. "Why can't it be that easy?" She stared in his blue eyes, the desk between them.

"It's just not," he said quietly. Then he added "You're not a professional. They don't yell so much." He looked wounded at first, but then smirked at her. "Unless you're into that."

She set her briefcase down and walked toward him. "Thank you for the desk," she said. "I… love it."

"If we use a bartering system it could count as currency for sexual favors," he explained. "If that makes this less awkward." He grinned sheepishly.

Cuddy grinned back a little. "Is that what you wanted? To relive our desk days?"

House pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "Arrrgh. Cuddy, if I just wanted sex, I played this evening all wrong." She watched him physically relax, resigning himself to the predicament. He placed his hands on the window sill and she watched his fingers nervously drum against the wood. "Fine, Cuddy, since you're being so chicken-shit about it, I—"

"I want to kiss you," she confessed.

He stared. "I want to touch you."

"Why do you always have to one-up me?"

"Why do you have to make it so easy?" he teased, poking fun at her cautious nature.

Screw cautious. "I think I love you," she finally said. She took a small step toward him. Then another. House took one hand off the sill and held it out to her. She took it and he yanked her toward him.

"That's good," he said. "Because I know I love you." His eyes roamed over her face and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"The why are you such an asshole all the time?" she asked.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I think it has something to do with being socially awkward." He pressed his forehead to hers. "And all the yelling."

Cuddy smirked at him and it turned into a smile. She turned her face up and they finally, finally kissed. It started slow, with each of them parting their lips, brushing them together lightly, testing. Then he closed his lips over her top one with more insistence and she put her arms around his neck and they transitioned into full-on making out. She felt his tongue run along her lips, her teeth. His hands moved from her back down to her ass.

House felt Cuddy's body lean into his, felt the curve of her ass in his hands. He nosed her head back so he could kiss her neck. "See how awkward you make this?" he murmured against her neck. He felt her laugh against his lips as he kissed her throat.

"If only I had slept with countless other morons," she replied.

House pulled back to look at her. "From what I hear—"

"Shut up, House."

He laughed and she played with the buttons on his shirt, smiling. He was laughing.

Being Cuddy, she was already starting to worry a little about where this was going, if she'd understood him correctly, if he wanted what she wanted, what each scenario meant for work… But then House's fingers were at the hem of her skirt, hiking it up slowly, until it was high enough on her thighs for him to lift her, prompting her to wrap her legs around him. He carried her to the desk and sat her on it.

"I think we should see if this old thing's still got it," he said in his low, gravelly voice.

Cuddy moved her hands down his chest, one unbuttoning his shirt and the other pausing right over his crotch. "You're talking about the desk, right?" She laughed at her own joke.

"Very funny. I'm still a legend," he told her, yanking her skirt up higher, then easing her top over her head.

"Among prostitutes," she clarified.

"They would know." His mouth was all over her breasts then, and Cuddy had no choice but to shut up now as his tongue glided over her nipple. His arms pulled her close. Her hands roamed his body. Eventually she opened his pants and leaned back on her arms. She felt his hands skate across her skin, then slip down to her heat, literally ripping her panties off. Cuddy gasped a little. Then he slid his fingers along her folds. Cuddy gasped louder. Then he grabbed her hips and slid inside her. Cuddy cried out.

God, this woman. He watched her respond to his every move, listened to her pleasure, and he wondered why he hadn't destroyed her office sooner. He held her hips and moved slowly, restraining himself from the speed and pressure his body was begging for. Suddenly Cuddy sat up, hooking her arms around his neck. "So that's clearly working," she said against his mouth.

"You're talking about the desk, right?" he groaned. Her legs had closed tighter against his hips and the tight friction of her body was killing him. His lips felt her teeth when she smiled broadly.

"Yes, but that's only the first test, if you recall." Now her lips grazed his teeth because, yes, he did recall. Cuddy unhooked her legs, planting her stilettos on the floor, then turned around in front of him, falling to her elbows on the desk. House's hands hadn't stopped encircling her, but now he held less hip and more ass. Cuddy hiked her skirt up all the way and House had to alternatingly stare and close his eyes to keep his cool. He was pressed against her, but was trying to compose himself more before he entered her again.

Cuddy looked at him over her shoulder. "Aww, is it broken after all?" She fake pouted and he lunged to trap that protruding lip in his own at the same time that he thrust inside her, causing her to moan into his mouth. "I guess not," she whispered as he kept moving into her with more and more abandon. His hand reached around her to tease her clit, his other holding the side of her face, keeping her lips available to his. She started rocking back to meet his movements and their urgency grew stronger each minute. "Fuck _me_ , House," she told him.

So, she'd officially joined him out on that limb. His teeth gently closed on her shoulder while he obeyed her, and soon they were both moaning and breathing in fits and starts. He still remembered her signals, and when he felt her clenching and releasing around him, he achieved an ecstasy he hadn't felt, well, since her.

They collapsed on the desk, his head on her back, her arms splayed out across it. After a few minutes he had enough presence to run a hand along the length of one long smooth arm, while he continued to replay the events in his mind.

"I'm so glad I didn't take that hooker home," he mused.

Cuddy sighed. "God, you're awkward."

"I know," he agreed. "Hence the office demolition and the desk." He kissed her shoulder.

"You're right. Cash is easier." He laughed on top of her.


End file.
